


Eight is Late

by Hezikiah



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Vicar of Dibley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2019-01-26 12:46:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12557692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hezikiah/pseuds/Hezikiah
Summary: The Eighth Doctor is confused by some strange feelings while visiting an English church and he runs into a rather strange, vapid verger...





	Eight is Late

**Author's Note:**

> This is another one hour challenge, which took me about 45 minutes. I've never written Eight before and this was more an exercise in getting into the character. Also, I freaking love Alice Tinker. If you're not familiar with her, she's the verger of St. Barnabus in the British TV show "The Vicar of Dibley." A verger is sort of the church caretaker and assistant. Alice is sweet and kind and very, very dim. She nosed her way into the fic, like she does. How come I love her? Because when she was matron-of-honor in her best friend's wedding, she dressed like David Tennant as the Doctor. Alice, you're awesome.

  


Alice Tinker dressed like the Tenth Doctor...isn't she adorable?! 

The TARDIS landed down the lane from a small country church in a nondescript country village somewhere on the far outskirts of London. The door opened and a moment later, a man clad in nineteenth century Victorian trousers, waistcoat, and frock coat stepped outside. He pushed his long, floppy hair out of his eyes and smiled at the serene setting of a perfect English summer's day. The Doctor pulled the door of his ship shut, shoved his hands into his pockets, and began strolling down the road towards the village to buy a pack of gum and a yo-yo. He'd lost his somewhere on the R-101 airship, where he'd met Charlie Pollard (currently sound asleep inside the TARDIS).

He normally wouldn't have given the stone church another glance, but as his feet passed by the stile leading to the requisite cemetery in front of the nave, his “spidey senses” (as Ace had called them) began to tingle. The Doctor froze in his tracks and sniffed. He sniffed again and then turned around on the spot. He smelled the unmistakeable metallic ozone scent of the Time Vortex. Making a face, he squatted down and his questing fingers traced the rectangular shape of the TARDIS' footprint. His ship, for he recognized the echo of the ship's unique resonance pattern, had landed here only a short time ago...within the last fifteen minutes.

There was something else lurking underneath the sharp tangy smell of the Vortex. The Doctor inhaled sharply, filling his lungs with the smells. With a jolt that sent him shooting back to his feet, he realized it was the smell of regeneration energy. He surmised that one of his future selves (since he didn't recognize this place) must have been there while they were about to regenerate or had just regenerated. He regarded the quiet church and frowned. Why would he come here? There wasn't anything special about this place. It looked like just about every English village church he'd ever seen.

A figure came around the corner of the church. She was dressed in a black verger's costume and she locked the doors of the church before she spotted the Doctor. The middle-aged blonde woman wore round glasses and had a pleasant vapid look on her face. She approach the Doctor and asked, “Did you miss the wedding, then? I think everyone's gone down the pub...” She paused and then shook her head. “No, hold on. That's not right.” She let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Silly me! Receptions aren't at pubs, are they, sir? No no...now let me think...” She stared up at the clouds, a blank look on her face.

The Doctor coughed once. “Wedding?”

“Oh yes!” the woman enthused, a smile brightening her face. “Lovely ginger bride, she was! I'm just locking up the church for the afternoon. You're not the only poor bloke who was late. Some fellow in a brown pinstripe suit was just here a while back.” She let out a small giggle. “Gave the bride a lottery ticket, he did. Whoever heard of such a silly present, I ask? Mind you, it's a triple rollover this week so maybe she'll get lucky!” The woman stuck out her hand and the Doctor shook her hand. “I'm Alice, by the way. I'm the verger of St. Barnabus.” Her face brightened as a memory struck her. “The Bellimont Hotel! That's where the reception is!” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “Go on! Off you pop! You can't be late now, can you?”

The Doctor took a few steps back, to get out of the way of the flailing verger. “Ah..right. Right. Thank you, Miss Alice. Thank you very much indeed.” The Doctor continued on his way, keeping one eye on the strange blonde woman as he headed back down the road to the village. Of course, he had no intention of going to the reception. Some things were best left alone.

Still, as he ambled down the lane, his mind whirled in contemplation. A rural village church. A wedding. And a ginger bride. He let out a deep breath and wondered if it could possibly be his own wedding? He hoped not. He was rubbish at weddings, especially his own. And why would he be regenerating during a wedding? Oh well. He was sure he'd find out some day.

The Doctor shrugged as his thoughts changed gears. What kind of a yo-yo should he get this time around...?


End file.
